On Opposite Sides of the Line
by Kyootulu
Summary: Helena Douglas has settled back into her normal routine. However, a visitor re-enters her life seeking answers only she can provide regarding the one moment she would rather forget: Project Epsilon.
1. The Problem With Reunions

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: I don't own anything. _Dead or Alive_ and all of the characters, concepts, etc. used in this story is owned by Tecmo and Team Ninja. This isn't being written for profit, but for a personal, creative endeavor only. 

AUTHOR'S SQUAWK: I haven't written a piece of fanfiction in a very long while, so please forgive me in grammar, diction, spelling, and overall plottage is sub par. This story is based on an attempt to tie in some loose ends together, simply because I and a bunch of other DOA fans that I interact with on a regular basis believe that there's an underlying story that makes sense if you try to fill in the holes with logical theories. It was a fun project for me and them to just come up with some answers and explanations, and this fanfic is a culmination of all of our discussions. 

I guess you can consider this Drama/Suspense/Action/Romance. It...well, sort of pairs up Hayate/Ein and Helena Douglas, and I say "sort of" because the ending will be a little open ended. But it mostly focuses on the events, reasons, and motives surrounding Project Epsilon. This fanfic will also sport several cameos in a logical sequence to explain some ties a little more as well according to some full motion video clips from DOA2 and 3. Specifically: Gen Fu, Bayman, Hayabusa and Hitomi. 

I hate to disappoint Kasumi and Ayane fans, but they don't appear in this story save for brief mentions and explanations from Hayate's point of view. But in looking at the other fanfics in this section, I say they have enough attention. 

But...that's it for my squawk. As always, comments and stuff are most welcome!

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**_The Problem With Reunions_**

_The Palais Garnier_  
_Paris, France_  
_The Present_

The applause was deafening, then again the domed ceiling of the Palais Garnier in Paris was built to carry sound to its maximum. _La Traviata_ was a classic for a reason, which was often why the more elite, opera fans and fine arts enthusiasts flocked every time it opened for a new season in the city. It was a story of romance and tragedy, built upon love and misunderstandings that didn't fail to capture both happiness and sorrow all at once. Most operas, like the one she had just performed, were bittersweet, but there were certain roles in which she naturally fell in, losing herself to the arias and the fantastic strains of the orchestra. She owed it to her current, "official" profession that she had now become very proficient in Italian. 

After the final bows were given, Helena Douglas drew back from the main curtains, smiling faintly at the rest of the cast as they turned to each other to give their congratulations. "You sing a beautiful Violetta, Mademoiselle Douglas!" Etienne Gioconda gushed as she took both of her hands within her own during the phase of well wishes. A junior soprano at eighteen, having played tonight's Flora, she had mentioned in the past that she had been wanting to sing with her ever since she had been formally introduced to the elite, Parisian opera circuit. A pretty, half-French, half-Italian teenager, Helena had no doubt that her subtle charm and a certain, endearing girlish naiveté would get her far. 

"You've gotten far for being so new," Helena remarked graciously, squeezing the girl's hands lightly. While she didn't usually give out such generous compliments, tonight was special. Everything had been perfect, on opening night no less. She couldn't have been any happier. 

Gustavo Valencia, who had been cast as the male lead, Alfredo, eased himself away from a crowd comprised of several members from the chorus, and moved towards their direction. He gave them both an elaborate bow, grinning rakishly. "Well, now that everyone's all high and happy," he declared imperiously, straightening. "I hope everybody's going to the cast's celebration gala tonight. The director said he reserved the entire Le Chateau de la Mer tonight for all of us." 

"Oh, really?!" Etienne seemed to jump at the opportunity, both at the mention of the newest and hottest seafood restaurant in the city as well as to interact with the handsome tenor in a more social setting. "Monsieur Maccini is so kind...he didn't have to go through all of that trouble." 

Helena chuckled, and shook her head. "I believe I'll have to pass, monsieur, mademoiselle," she addressed the two. "The rehearsals have been murder on my personal time, and I do want to spend some time with Caesar this week. He's been feeling neglected." 

"Who's Caesar?" both chorused, before looking at each other. Etienne blushed at her blatant display of curiosity. Gustavo's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "I didn't know Mademoiselle Soprano had a beau," he teased, playing on what was widely known in the Opera Circuit: Helena was notorious for not having much interest in men, or at least, those that surrounded her at a regular basis. 

"Caesar," the Douglas Heiress began. "Is my _dog_, Monsieur Tenor. Though you can consider him my beau if you wish." She turned to start walking off the stage, looking over her shoulder and giving the man a broader smile. "Anything to keep you vultures off my back." 

Gustavo lifted a hand to clutch at his chest dramatically. "You wound me, mademoiselle!" he called out amidst the excited din. Helena's hand moved to the side and waved slightly, disappearing backstage with a swish of her long, pale-gold ponytail. Grinning to himself, he turned to flash Etienne one of his more dazzling smiles. "Well, then. Shall we, cara?" 

Etienne almost fainted. Instead, she took his arm and beamed at him. 

------------------ 

Her dressing room was dark when she entered it, lit by a single, yellow lamp on the side of her vanity. Helena closed the door behind her and leaned against the wood, breathing a sigh of relief. Now that she was alone, perhaps she could get rid of the corset she was wearing underneath the costume she wore. Not like she protested wearing such things, of course, she had a certain liking for historical attire, and most of her more customized ensembles reflected that fact. But the corset was killing her, she can't believe she had Etienne lace it up so tightly. 

"How in the world did women back then _breathe_ in these?" she muttered, moving to the vanity so she could take off the sash that held her hair in place, and reach for the brush. Before her fingertips reached it, however, she froze. The hairs at the back of her neck rose, and her acquired, fighter's instinct had told her that _someone else_ was in the room. Her hand shifted to her letter opener instead, her crystalline, aquamarine eyes sliding to the side. 

"What are you doing here?" she asked the surrounding dimness. 

Something in the surrounding darkness shifted. A masked man dressed in full, ninja regalia melted out of the shadows effortlessly, most of his face covered with his mask. Helena's eyes moved to the mirror. Despite the covering on his face, she knew who he was...she could never forget those eyes. 

"Ah. It's you, Monsieur Hayate." 

The 18th leader of the Mugen Tenshin Mon ninjas lifted a hand to pull down his half-mask, his handsome face as serious as she'd always seen it. He moved further into the light, pocketing the fabric. "I apologize for the intrusion," he said formally, bowing from the waist to accentuate his words. "It isn't a habit of mine to break into a woman's personal space unannounced." 

Helena lifted a brow. He wasn't this respectful during the second Dead or Alive tournament, but then again, she heard he had gained his memories back. While Hayate and the man named Ein were one and the same, they were still, by mannerisms, two completely different people. "Well," she replied simply, turning to her closet to gather up the single outfit hung up inside. "I suppose we're both lucky that I didn't start changing as soon as I walked through the door." 

"...." the ninja gaped at her openly. 

She gave him a flat look. "This _is_ a dressing room, monsieur." 

Hayate recovered. To his credit, he didn't even cough. "While it was my intention to intrude, it wasn't my intention to intrude to _that_ extent." His voice had a defensive edge to it. As his molten, amber-brown eyes catching sight of the clothes she had pulled out of her closet, he turned around to give her privacy, but he certainly wasn't leaving. 

It wasn't as if she didn't appreciate the gesture. Helena inclined her head at his back, before turning to head behind an old-fashioned changing screen located at the other end of the room. Her long skirt rustled against the floor, and once she was behind it, she started working the costume off. "So," she began from behind the apparatus. "What is it that you wanted? I don't think you came from all the way from Japan just to say hello." 

"You would be right." Hayate was blunt, his eyes fixing on the far wall of the spacious room and taking in the decor. It sharply contrasted the Eastern simplicity he was used to, the architecture of this one room alone was quite elaborate in his eyes. "I have several particular questions, and you're the only one accessible to me that could answer them. Specifically, the details surrounding Project Epsilon." 

He heard Helena pause from behind the screen she sheltered herself with. "...I thought you regained all of your memories?" she asked. Something in her tone alerted him that there was a certain something in the way she spoke the sentence. 

"Not all of it," Hayate confessed after a few moments of silence. "I remember my childhood, the events in between. How I fell into DOATEC hands in the first place. I remember Hitomi, and her father, and how they took care of me while I was in Germany. I remember what I have done as Ein. But I don't remember the experiments." He paused. "The only indicators I have that something unnatural did happen to me was my temporary amnesia, and the fact that I can walk again." 

Helena stopped changing for the moment, on the verge of buttoning up the white, sleeveless ruffled blouse she had brought with her. She looked over her shoulder, catching his slight silhouette from behind her screen. 

"...isn't that enough?" she inquired quietly. "You've regained everything that matters, why fixate yourself on questions that are probably best left unanswered? It'll only for you in the end, monsieur, if you knew." 

"Perhaps." The clan leader lifted his broad shoulders in a slight shrug. "My concern is that if I don't know what was artificially done to me, my body might end up suffering in the long run with the side-effects and complications that are foreseeable from such procedures and I would be caught off guard if or when they manifest. I only want to be prepared, Douglas-san. Surely you can understand that." 

The songstress finished changing. Her sigh was audible, and there was a reluctance to her movements when she finally moved out of the screen. Hayate turned now that she was done, his stance easy, and while his defenses were significantly lowered, he was still a dangerous man. 

"Well, this is certainly a change of pace," Helena remarked, a small, amused smirk quirking on the corners of her mouth. "When men seek me out, they don't usually do so out of a concern for their health." 

Hayate didn't respond to the quip. He searched her eyes with his own, his expression forever in the middle of stern and serious. "You were familiar to me, Helena," he said, falling to the use of her first name. "Back at the second tournament. When you mentioned Project Epsilon, when I was still 'Ein'. But I had no reason to, I could almost swear I had never seen you before, but I felt like I did. Why? What're you hiding?" 

The casual expression on Helena's delicate face changed. It reflected his own seriousness now, recused a little bit by the sudden inability to meet his gaze. She crossed her arms over her chest in what the ninja recognized as a subconscious, defensive gesture, turning her head away to stare determinedly at her vanity lamp. 

"You're serious about this." It was more of a statement than a question. 

"And you're stalling," Hayate countered, before he sighed somewhat impatiently. "I wouldn't have subjected myself to those big, metal birds to get here if I wasn't," he pointed out. 

"Right." Helena seemed to hesitate further, before straightening her shoulders, a defiant tilt to her jaw apparent. She walked over towards him, wariness giving way to a certain sort of boldness. However, when she lifted a hand to move towards his neck, his lowered defenses snapped back into place. Hayate's hand seized her wrist in a motion that was almost too fast to be discerned clearly, eyes narrowing as they bored down onto hers. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, a sharp edge to his normally calm tone. 

The French woman's blue-green orbs narrowed back at him. "You're not going to get far in your inquiries if you don't let me confirm something," she replied, her clear, reasonable voice as cool as ice. Her own stare cut through his, and for a moment it seemed as if, while silence hung tensely in the room, that they were mentally locked in a battle of wills instead of fists. 

Finally, slowly, the ninja's fingers released her. Helena moved her hand to slip through his hair, and towards the back of his neck. A brief flicker of surprise entered his eyes, not just by the gentleness of a hand that had dealt a surprising amount of damage to him close to two years ago or so, but by the familiarity of the touch. He also found a disturbing, almost instinctive urge to touch her cheek when she did it. 

And when she pressed a single fingertip on the slight, normal protrusion of bone at the very base of his nape, he was startled to feel something grate from within. He drew back quickly, rubbing the appendage. Shock coursed through his veins. 

"What the _hell_ was that?" It was more out of apprehension than anger. 

Helena was absently rubbing her wrist, turning her body sideways and giving him a glance along her shoulder. "That," she replied. "Was something that explained a lot of things to me." 

As the man stared after her uncomprehendingly, warily, she moved over to where she had stashed her things on a chair. Rifling through her purse, she brought out a small cellular phone and depressed a speed dial button within it. She lifted the thing to her ear, sensing Hayate's frustration from the other end of the room. 

"It looks like I don't have to answer any of your questions, monsieur," she stated once she heard the other line ring. As the ninja opened his mouth to protest, she lifted a hand. "You'll get your answers once you remove that thing off the back of your neck." 

"What thing?" Hayate growled persistently. He fell quiet again, however, when Helena turned away to speak to the other person on the other end in her native language. He felt the urge to pace, the way he usually did when his mind was struggling with something that may or may not be beyond his control, but he didn't. He kept his control, and merely shifted his stance to brace on the other leg. 

Her conversation done with, the singer flipped her phone shut, and faced Hayate again. " 'It'," she started. "Was your promise, monsieur." 

His half-frustrated, half-angry expression melted into confusion. "My promise?" 

"Oui. Insurance." 

Helena turned and gestured for him to follow her. "Come. The sooner we do this, the sooner you can go home." _And the sooner I can go back pretending you never happened._

_All this time, especially with the way things are now, I hoped you wouldn't persist. I suppose I underestimated your tenacity yet again...._

_I just wished regarding this that you would let it lie. That you would be content with what you have regained. It would be easier for me, and you._

_But you weren't one to make things easy..._

_You never have. But even with the one hole in your memory, you still manage to keep your promises, somehow. Your word. Your precious code._

She felt him follow. She drew out her car keys from the back pocket of her jeans. The rest of the way had been silent. 

_I wish with all my heart that I had that ability._

------------------ 

"I have to say, Lady Helena. I never expected to see him again." 

"I trust you'll keep this confidential, Doctor Mauser." 

It had started to rain when the two of them had reached the small, private clinic of Doctor Geoff Mauser at the bend of Rue d'Avignon, just a few blocks away from the Champs Elysees. The impromptu surgery had lasted longer than she had expected, but Helena anticipated that an explanation as to why was shortly forthcoming. 

The man in front of her was pushing well into his mid-fifties, but could somehow still wield a scalpel with an almost scholastic precision. The doctor had been an old associate of her father's, and once upon a time had been heavily involved with a small, DOATEC department in the company's German headquarters, dedicated to regenerative technologies. He had long since retired from the corporation, but men of profession these days never completely retired, hence the private practice he kept in Paris. 

Mauser slid a transparent, glass tube across the table towards Helena, the thing standing on its stopper. "You know I've always supported you," the old German stated simply, kindly, addressing the confidentiality issue. "And it's a relief to know for certain after these past few years that Subject E is still alive. I've taken quite a shine to him before when I helped him with his therapy. His spirit was unlike those the company had taken in the past. I suppose that was what made him particularly difficult." 

"I remember." Helena picked up the tube, and glanced at the tiny, red indicator light still blinking amidst the mass of damaged circuits. The tube contained indiscernible fragments of a tiny, electronic device. "Was it this damaged when you took it out of him?" 

"Yes. It was why the two hour operation I anticipated had turned into four. The damage would have been quite acute if we didn't take all the debris out. Fragments were scattered all over the bone, and the surrounding muscles. And some ligaments." Mauser leaned back. "It would've affected him eventually, especially considering his body upon preliminary examination indicates a high level of activity. But since the spinal MI-MIC was so small to begin with, he would've gone on without feeling anything for a very long while." 

"It was probably the reason why he recovered most of his memories after the tournament," Helena remarked. "Facing all of those opponents probably agitated, then later compromised the device's integrity. Broke it from within. Save for one little node." She shook the tube a little, hearing the tiny, metallic parts clink onto the glass. 

"I wouldn't know, Lady Helena. I was never a major part of the project, I wouldn't know what the side effects of having a spinal MI-MIC placed on a human body are. Those were classified as need-to-know." Mauser lifted a hand to push through his white, frizzy hair. "I was only responsible in helping to get rid of his paralysis." 

The singer sighed, lifting her fingers to rub her eyes. It was getting late, and the clinic was somewhat chilly. She reached for the jacket she had brought with her from the adjacent chair, and shrugged it over her shoulders. "How is he?" she asked, finally. 

"Drugged." Mauser smiled a little bit. "He didn't want it, of course, but I insisted considering it's a very painful procedure and he would've endured it for four hours. He's as stubborn as I remember." He shrugged. "He'd perhaps feel a little achy in the morning. Feel a little bruised, but he'd sleep soundly through the night." 

"Good." Helena extended a hand across the desk, and gave him a small smile. "Thank you for coming when I asked. I know it's late, your wife must be very concerned." 

"Kirtina has been understanding all these years," Mauser said with a hint of affection, clasping the heiress's hand. "And she wouldn't have minded knowing you made the request." The man moved to get up from his chair behind his desk, and Helena rose with him, her hands sliding into her pockets. 

"I was wondering what you would do now that circumstances have changed to this extent," Mauser said after a deliberate pause. "Your position is rather...difficult at best, ja?" 

"It is," Helena confirmed. "But I'll manage, as always." 

"Your father made the right decision, fraulein." 

"I hope so, herr doktor." 

**END CHAPTER ONE**


	2. The Consequences of Paternity

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: I don't own anything. _Dead or Alive_ and all of the characters, concepts, etc. used in this story is owned by Tecmo and Team Ninja. This isn't being written for profit, but for a personal, creative endeavor only. 

AUTHOR'S SQUAWK: I haven't written a piece of fanfiction in a very long while, so please forgive me in grammar, diction, spelling, and overall plottage is sub par. This story is based on an attempt to tie in some loose ends together, simply because I and a bunch of other DOA fans that I interact with on a regular basis believe that there's an underlying story that makes sense if you try to fill in the holes with logical theories. It was a fun project for me and them to just come up with some answers and explanations, and this fanfic is a culmination of all of our discussions. 

I guess you can consider this Drama/Suspense/Action/Romance. It...well, sort of pairs up Hayate/Ein and Helena Douglas, and I say "sort of" because the ending will be a little open ended. But it mostly focuses on the events, reasons, and motives surrounding Project Epsilon. This fanfic will also sport several cameos in a logical sequence to explain some ties a little more as well according to some full motion video clips from DOA2 and 3. Specifically: Gen Fu, Bayman, Hayabusa and Hitomi. 

I hate to disappoint Kasumi and Ayane fans, but they don't appear in this story save for brief mentions and explanations from Hayate's point of view. But in looking at the other fanfics in this section, I say they have enough attention. 

But...that's it for my squawk. As always, comments and stuff are most welcome!

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

**_The Consequences of Paternity_**

_DOATEC - Germany Headquarters_  
_Several miles north of the Schwarzwald Region_  
_Three years ago_

_It's been a while..._ The slender, blonde teenager thought to herself, watching the beautiful, rolling hills and the huge expanse of the famous Black Forest region pass her by through the tinted windows of the company car sent to get her from the nearest major airport. Yet despite how beautiful Germany was this time of year, with the colors changing denoting the coming of Autumn, a feeling of irritation continued to simmer underneath the surface. 

She didn't want to be there. 

The bulletproof shielding separating her from the driver lowered, and dark eyes turned to peer over his shoulder at her brooding self on the leather upholstery. Burke had been with her father for years, a bodyguard, an aide, sometimes he even played butler and driver. Helena didn't want to think about the other things the large, former prizefighter had done for Fame Douglas, President of the current World Government and head of the biggest, multi-national military research conglomerate the seven continents had ever seen: DOATEC. She knew enough to know that some of her father's business had been less than legitimate. 

"We'll be there soon, Lady Helena," Burke said mildly, facing the front again. "They're expecting us." 

"Merci, Burke." 

Her father's bodyguard/aide had been true to his words. It took only a matter of minutes before the large, imposing research facility loomed over them. The sleek, black car had stopped at the security gates, in where Burke presented the ample identification needed. After several unneeded procedures to determine the ID's validity, and verification of Burke's identity, the vehicle was allowed through. Helena watched as they made their way through the vast, circular rotunda, stopping in front of the main building's steps. 

She waited patiently for Burke to open her door, and took his hand when he extended it to help her out. Smoothing her white, sundress down and tugging on the collar of her expensive, alligator skin jacket, she started moving upwards the stairs leading to the main lobby, the heels of her low pumps clicking. 

The singer was relatively desensitized to the intimidating feel of the main entrance's atrium, pausing for a moment above the large, DOATEC sigil embedded on the marble floor. Her gaze slid to the silent cameras stationed and mounted on the walls, before moving on. She was used to security in her father's places of business being quite severe, and she was certain they already knew who she was the moment she stepped in. Burke led her through the lobby, nodding to some of the like-dressed security staff: tall, imposing men dressed in black suits and most probably armed. Even indoors they wore the same, dark glasses as Burke did, though she knew they served a special purpose: data from the main, security chamber located somewhere in the building were transmitted to those glasses with the finest of wireless technology. 

The central elevator parted before them, as if the device itself expected their coming. Burke depressed the button for the designated floor as Helena stepped into the lift's carpeted floor. The doors hissed shut. Unlike most buildings, the elevators here were rather comfortable, people barely ever felt it lift and lower. The only way an individual knew they were moving at all were the lights that denoted the rising and falling of the apparatus. 

She finally reached the fourteenth floor, devoted solely to her father's large, cushy office. A young, red-haired German woman was manning the secretary's station on the side, just opposite of the set of black, leather couches set there for visitors and those with appointments. Truth be told, Fame hardly ever met with anybody outside of the employees of the facility itself in this office, but now and then there would be a certain straggler, like her case. 

The secretary, Anna, lifted her head and gave them a somewhat hesitant smile. Helena nodded, but pretty much ignored her save for that one gesture, trailing behind Burke with her slender, long-legged strides. The burly, dark-clad man laid a massive hand on the door, and opened it for her, but unlike the rest of their journey, he didn't follow her inside. As soon as she was through the doorway, he closed the door, and took his position to the side of it, legs astride and his arms folded in front of him. 

Helena hadn't seen her father in some time, yet every time she had laid eyes on him, she felt a certain level of darkness dwindle. He had always intimidated her when she had been younger, in those very rare occasions in where he would ask her mother for her to see him, or, more often, her mother would implore her to visit and spend time with him just a little bit. She didn't know what for, or why her mother even persisted. Marie Depervier was once, and was forever going to be, just his mistress. This wasn't the first time she had wondered about it, whether the two of them had an agreement in the past that she didn't know about. The thought pricked from under her skin, a constant thorn of doubt. Marie knew her feelings towards Fame Douglas, and no matter how hard she tried, they weren't going to change any time soon. 

Fame, as distinguished as he was, looked tired, though he looked up and made an effort to look somewhat accommodating. He was a tall man, around six-feet-one, clad in a crisp, ash-gray business suit and a champagne-colored tie. His graying hair had been combed back, but he never used pomade or anything to slick it back like some greasy car salesman. Dark, with a face full of hard planes and sharp lines, he looked almost nothing like her, save for the piercing, blue-green eyes situated under heavy brows. 

"Helena," he greeted, setting aside the folder he was perusing on his desk and standing up to greet her properly. "The jet made good time, I see." 

"Maman put me on the plane almost as soon as my performance at the Venetian was over," Helena said. She couldn't help the slight edge on her voice. "What did you say to her?" 

Her father blinked at her, before he shook his head. There was a bit of exasperation to his gesture, as well as a sort of long-suffering patience that she had associated with him in her most recent years. "I asked her if she could send you to see me," he explained, moving over to her and gesturing for her to move towards the sitting area of the large room. "It's been a while, and despite what you may think of my philandering, you are still my only child." 

It was only a sheer amount of willpower that kept Helena's lips from curling into a rather unladylike sneer. She settled for a cool look. "You have an agenda, Father," she said. "You're a politician, and you run a huge conglomerate. They're almost guarantees that you do." She followed the gesture anyway, taking a seat. No use standing, she decided. 

Fame sat across from her, leaning back and crossing his legs. He inspected her with the eyes she hated, simply because they were so much like her own. "You're right this time. I have a couple of things of some import to tell you, and I won't entertain even the slightest possibility that you've come willingly. You never have, despite my efforts." 

Helena tilted her chin at him slightly, a defiant, imperious gesture her mother had never been able to perfect. "We have an understanding, then." 

"Indeed. Coffee?" 

"Tea." 

"Very well." The older Douglas reached onto the coffee table separating them, depressing the red button on the intercom device. "Anna, could you get a tea cart in here?" 

"Of course, Herr Douglas," came the crisp, efficient reply. 

It didn't take long for one of the in-house serving staff to appear with a teacart, situating the proper things on the table before moving on so as to minimize his intrusion. Fame left his cup and saucer untouched however, and watched quietly as Helena picked hers up, squeezed the lemon slice that was generously provided into the amber liquid, before stirring and taking a quiet sip. He didn't seem to mind the silence much as well, turning his head just slightly to observe the wonderful view his office provided. The tinted, large glass panes that rounded that side of the building almost made his office feel like an observatory, in a way. 

"I had some documents drafted," Fame said finally. "And I filed paternity papers in Paris, though they won't be active until two years' time." 

Helena stopped sipping her tea. Lowering the cup onto her saucer with a quiet clack, she met her father's gaze. "You're legitimizing me," she realized slowly. "Why?" 

"It's to strengthen your claim to my estate, should anything happen to me." He stood up, and slid his hands in his pockets. "I'm both a politician and a business man, my dear. You can't blame me for taking some precautions." 

"But that would mean..." 

"That DOATEC will be yours eventually." 

Her spine stiffened. "I don't want it," she said firmly. 

The world leader was unfazed at the blunt refusal. While Helena kept calm, she had too much of her mother's spirit. He saw the growing, angry flush on her cheeks, the fire burning behind her gaze. Her delicate jaw hardened, like it usually did when she was about to become stubborn. He would have pushed the issue, and could have told her that it was his estate, and she was his daughter, and being nineteen years of age didn't warrant her any right to stop him from doing anything with what he thought was rightfully his. Instead, he started moving away from the couches, and towards one of his large windows. "If it makes you feel any better," he began. "You can do whatever you want with it when you get it." 

That was unacceptable in so many words. The teenager jumped up from the couch, Helena doggedly followed her father around his office, her aquamarine eyes narrowed. "You cannot be serious!" she exclaimed angrily. "Why this? Why now?" 

Fame stopped pacing in order to face his daughter fully. His own expression reflected a similar, determined stubbornness, despite looking so unlike her. His illegitimate daughter, and only heir, had taken mostly to her mother's description, and a paternal sort of pride found it a blessing. "You are my only child," he restated firmly, his voice unyielding. "It is a logical choice." 

"DOATEC has nothing to do with me," Helena countered heatedly. "It has never had _anything_ to do with me. You were content with that notion before, and now all this talk of papers, legitimacy..._your estate_? You sound like you're about to die in the next few months! What are you not telling me?" 

He fell silent, his like, blue-green eyes scrutinizing her angry face critically. After a few moments, his expression softened, and it seemed to her that he was about to offer her at least one honest answer. However, before he could say anything, a resounding, electronic beep crackled through the room, and the unmistakable voice of his secretary speaking through the intercom. 

"Herr Douglas?" came Anna's thickly accented voice. "Doktor Donovan is here for his three o'clock appointment." 

Fame sighed, and muttered something under his breath. "Send him in, Anna. I can't believe I forgot about this...." He turned to look at his daughter. "We'll discuss this later, Helena." 

Her protest was both expected and uncontrolled. "Father--!" 

The electronic door slid open, a tall, slender man in a white lab coat sweeping in. "Just in time, Fame. We just had a breakthrough on Project E down at the 'Clean Room.' Your presence is required." There was a hurried look to him, a gleam in his pale, ghost-gray eyes. "Doktor Donovan," contrast to her father, was all limbs, with messy, black hair streaked with some gray here and there. There were the makings of a suit underneath his lab coat, but observing from her position, there was something Helena didn't like about him from the start. Perhaps it was how he called her father by his first name. He was merely an employee, but clearly addressing Fame in such a manner, he seemed, to her perception anyway, to style himself an equal. 

Fame, however, didn't seem to object to it. "Victor," he stated neutrally, gesturing to the side towards the still-seething blonde. "My daughter, Helena." 

The scientist looked a little surprised, turning from his excitement from just a moment. A flicker of something passed over his eyes, which may have been shock, or perhaps something else. "Of course," he remarked, recovering, approaching the young woman and extending a hand. "Pleased to meet you at last, Helena. My apologies, I didn't expect to see you here." 

Helena's face was impassive. She did take the handshake, however. "Doctor Donovan," she greeted coolly. 

Some semblance of propriety established, Donovan dropped Helena's hand and gave Fame a look. "Shall we?" 

"Yes, we shall," Fame confirmed, before turning to the opera singer. "Would you like a tour?" 

Her first instinct was to say no, but Helena stayed her tongue. What else did she have to do while she was here? "Alright." To her credit, she didn't even shrug to convey her reluctance, there were appearances to maintain after all. 

Father and daughter moved to follow Donovan through the head office's lobby, towards the elevators. 

------------------ 

He could barely move, though he felt his body do so anyway. The sound of squeaking wheels moved him from the room he was held in to the white, double-doors just a few feet away. But in his dark, bleary eyes, he sensed himself approach them in a moderate pace. His dulled senses recognized the sound of footsteps flanking him, and a set behind him. 

"There, there, Ein," came a soothing, male voice somewhere at the back of his mind. "We fixed you up well, you'll be walking in no time." 

"What...who...?" He could barely move his arms, and the last he actually remembered, he was crippled. It hurt to think. He felt bruised all over, and the length of his spine burned. _What happened...what did they do to me...?_

The soothing voice was joined by a harder, more unforgiving one. "You named Subject E, Doctor Mauser?" It sounded disapproving. "We're not supposed to do anything to humanize..." 

"My lad," came the patient, accented voice. "You'll come to learn in your tenure here that test subjects are more willing to listen to you if you call them by a human name." 

_Who's Ein?_ The topic of their discussion shifted his hands, feeling something move against his fingers. Some realization entered the clouds of his mind. A wheel? _I'm on a wheelchair....where are they taking me?_ As questions continued to grow in number, he felt his brain hurt. It was too much of an effort to even try and think. His entire body felt heavy, and his legs and back felt like they were on fire. 

The light seared into his eyes, causing him to groan further and close them as they went through the doors. Everything was white. Piercing, pristine white. The floors were white, the ceiling was white. The light was white. White, and void of anything else. He squinted, opening his eyes slowly to take his surroundings into account, his arms finding the strength, at least momentarily, to come up and shield most of the harsh beams away from his face. 

"He looks disoriented, doctor. The serum is still active?" 

"Yes. And it keeps him placid." He felt rough hands grab his shoulders, before the same, patient voice barked something in a foreign language, and the hands released him. They were replaced by a gentler touch. "Come now, Ein. Let's go for a walk." 

"Can't..." he found the strength to mumble. "Never again..." 

"Never say never, my boy. Come. Trust me." He felt someone loop one arm over his shoulder, and he complied. His legs felt heavy, but he moved to plant his feet on the cold floor from the supports of the wheelchair. His eyes flew open, haze clouding his vision. He saw nothing but white, and glimpses of a lined face that faded back into the snow. His human support moved, and he followed. 

It took a moment for him to realize he felt his legs again. They burned, and tingled, but the pain was receding at every step. His spine had the same, tingling sensation. It almost felt alien to be on his two feet again, but the idea only confused him all the more. He groaned again, lifting his hands to rub frantically at his eyes. 

He was only dimly aware when his support ceased his hold on him. He staggered around in his own power, a hand stretched out to grope for the air while the other remained on his face. 

"That's it, Ein...get a feel for it. Get used to it. You're cured now, you see?" 

_My name is NOT Ein!_

"Easy, Ein. Don't overdo it." 

_My name is Hayate!_

"We better not let him get too far, doctor," came the merciless tone of his aide. The rough hands were upon him again, on his shoulders. His temporary blindness and agitation spurred all the more by strangers grasping him spiked his drugged defenses. With a frustrated gurgle, Hayate's arm snapped to dislodge one set, and spun around on his new legs to crash his fist into a face he didn't see. 

He heard alarmed cries from the room, but he didn't wait. "Subject E" turned sharply, forcing his eyes open despite the pain to look around. There was a window that took over the eastern side of the room. He charged for it, just in time to elude someone snatching for his ankle. It was close, so close... 

Hayate leapt for the window, only to run hard into the reinforced pane. Not one to give up, he clawed at it desperately. His vision cleared up just slightly, and he found himself staring into a pair of wide, blue-green eyes from beyond the glass. 

"Where am I?!" he shouted at the irises gaping at him. "What did you do to me?!" 

A sharp, stabbing pain hit his side, and another on the base of his neck. Coupled with his already tenuous hold on his reacquired balance, he dropped like dead weight, his body crumpling onto the floor. The white faded to gray, and then receded into black. 

"You FOOLS!" came the echo in his mind. The patient man was angry. "Never the spine! Do you want to compromise everything we've worked to restore...?!" 

The voice became incomprehensible until that, too, faded. 

------------------ 

"You've done excellent work today, Doctor Mauser." 

"It took a lot of work, but I'm glad you thought so, Herr Douglas. My only regret is that your daughter had to see all of that." 

"She has a stronger stomach for violence than you think, doctor." 

"A lady shouldn't have to look upon such things, but I suppose I'm that much more Victorian than you, sir." 

_They talk about me as if I'm not even in the room_, came Helena's irritated thought, picking at her braised lamb. While she normally had a healthy appetite, considering the cuisine she was used to, she realized she had been trying to eat when she was clearly not hungry. Her mind drifted instead to the scene she had witnessed that afternoon. 

All four of them were having a quiet dinner at her father's villa, within driving distance of the facility. After witnessing the power of DOATEC's regenerative technologies and research, Fame wanted to discuss what they had just seen with its current head, Doctor Geoff Mauser. As head of all the research and development going on within the facility, Doctor Donovan had been invited as well. Given she was in her father's house, she had no choice but to be involved, at least for appearance's sake only. As much as she hated her father, she wasn't stupid enough not to realize that Fame's presence meant some semblance of stability. 

"As you were told before, Fame," Donovan began, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Unlike Helena, he had finished his food, and was now on his third glass of red wine. "Subject E had been brought to us paralyzed from the waist down. He had suffered from a rather unfortunate and violent accident that severed his spinal chord from the small of his back. It's a general scientific tenet that nerve cells cannot regenerate. Once they're destroyed, they're gone." He smiled smugly. "Until now that is, thanks to Doctor Mauser." 

"We managed to 'bridge' the two parts," Mauser explained in his nondescript, but affably quiet way. He smiled over at Helena's direction before taking a bite out of his lamb. "It'll take a bit of therapy for Ei--Subject E to regain full use of his motor capabilities from the waist down of course, but he seems to adapt remarkably well to the procedure. I didn't expect him to be able to walk on his own today, let alone..." 

"He's a trained fighter," Helena remarked suddenly, recalling the way the subject had dispatched the DOATEC security agents that had entered the clean room with Doctor Mauser, his aide, and his patient. "Where did you find him?" 

She felt all eyes turned to her, but she returned those gazes with her familiar, cool, disinterested elegance. Mauser seemed reluctant to say anything, but the ball had been effectively passed to Donovan. He took his time answering, taking a sip and smiling that same, smug way towards Helena. "Japan," he said. "And you would be right. He _is_ a trained fighter. Unfortunately, that is the reason why he is...was...crippled to begin with. In a fight." 

"I see." Helena felt her father's warning gaze upon her, but she ignored it. "He didn't seem to be aware of much of anything, doctor. Including where he is." 

Donovan's smile became infuriatingly accommodating. "He was under the influence of several drugs to make things easier for him, Lady Helena," he answered smoothly. "Naturally he'd be a little disoriented." 

Her cold look was enough. Even Mauser, who was seated alongside her, knew that the singer made it obvious that she didn't believe Donovan. Before anything else could be said however, Fame cleared his throat, and turned his head to his butler to instruct the servants to bring dessert in. Helena lifted her eyebrows at what was brought. Blanc-mange, her favorite. 

She didn't even know her father was all that aware of her likes and dislikes. She took a spoon in her hand and sampled her serving primly. 

"If we're making such progress with our medical science division," Fame said, not touching his dessert. "This ought to be a good time to discuss some future plans." He didn't waste a lot of time. "I want to shift the company's direction, using more of the work Doctor Mauser is doing. Patent the procedure and make it accessible to various hospitals around the world for a fee." 

Mauser blinked at Fame. Donovan paused from eating his dessert. Helena lowered her spoon. 

"Fame, you can't be serious," Victor said, calmly. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Please tell me you're not foregoing military research in favor of _health care_." 

"It's a good idea," the German, regenerative specialist stated simply. "It would make DOATEC look more of a philanthropic organization instead of a bloodsucking, multi-national conglomerate. We would receive more support this way than what we're currently getting." 

"If we go there, we won't HAVE a conglomerate to speak of," Donovan retorted icily, glowering at Mauser. "Most of our revenue comes from military research. Our superhuman projects. Whole governments and military groups around the world are very important investors, do you think they'll really stick with us if we remove our focus from that?" 

"We can always get more investors," Mauser argued. "DOATEC stock has always risen every year without fail." 

Helena continued to stare at her father, who remained placid the entire time as he watched the two researchers argue across the table from one another. What she reflected on wasn't her father's surprising, impromptu proposal, but the reactions of his two scientists. Mauser had been surprised. Donovan, somehow, wasn't. She had to wonder just what the latter knew regarding her father's long-term plans, for it seemed clear to her that there might be two factions brewing against one another right under the all-encompassing DOATEC insignia. 

"And do you really think that'll continue if we switch directions now?" Donovan continued, his eyes narrowing further. "Besides, if we do so now, the timing would be off. Project Epsilon is going to its next phase." 

The singer blinked at Donovan. Fame furrowed his brows. "Next phase?" he asked. 

Donovan smirked. "The MI-MIC devices." He turned his head to smile gregariously at Fame and his daughter. "Both of you are welcome to watch the tests if you wish." 

"But what are MI-MIC devices?" Helena wondered out loud. 

"Mind control modules," Mauser muttered towards the young blonde in explanation, the blunt answer causing her to widen her eyes just slightly. It was obvious the older man didn't approve of the idea. 

"I'll be there, Victor," Fame promised. "But Helena isn't really interested in that kind of thing." 

"I wouldn't mind seeing this for myself, Father," came his daughter's surprising announcement, which caused Fame to lift a brow slightly at her skeptically. He probably didn't know whether she was genuinely interested, or trivially answered to the contrary just to defy him. Either way, she met his expression impassively. 

"Well then, it's settled." Donovan savored his wine, watching the interaction between the two Douglases with seeming disinterest. "The experiments will be held at nine o'clock sharp tomorrow morning." 

Helena gave the doctor a nod. This was going to be interesting, to say the least. 

She dabbed her napkin on her lips. "Father, may I be excused?" 

Fame shifted to face her. "Going to bed already, Helena?" 

"I want to call maman. If that is alright with you." 

He nodded. Helena pushed away from the table, standing up and giving the other two scientists a polite smile. "It was a pleasure dining with you both, gentlemen." 

"The pleasure was mine, Lady Helena," Mauser replied warmly. Donovan merely tipped his wineglass towards her. She canted her head a bit to the side, before moving out of the spacious dining room. Her mind turned the events of the day over and over, but one thought continued to stick with her the entire time. 

It was obvious that Doctor Donovan had no qualms lying in front of her father. 

And for some reason, it bothered her. 

**END CHAPTER TWO**

**PREVIEW CHAPTER THREE: THE DISTURBING LACK OF ANSWERS**

"Synchronization rate is decreasing exponentially, Doctor." 

"Isn't this getting a little out of hand?" Helena spoke up, her eyes taking in the struggling subject. His face was hard, his expression scrunched up as if he was straining against an unyielding, brick wall. His body wracked with shudders, and his hands moved to clutch at his head. "You're not going to get far with your tests if he dies midway through it." 

Donovan ignored her, and kept pressing his commands. "Subject E, I order you to destroy your designated target." 

"Subject E" continued to shake his head, sweat pouring down his face and neck. He wouldn't move from his position, the headset gleaming under the harsh light of the room. 

"DO IT NOW!" 

"NO!" 

Even the scientists seemed taken aback by the proclamation of defiance. The head scientist was clearly displeased. A turn of the dial of his remote transmitted a higher-pitched frequency straight into the subject's head. Already weakened, drugs still active in his system, Subject E fell over, spasming violently on the floor. He would have cried out in pain, if his teeth hadn't clamped down on his lips so harshly crimson was blooming from his skin. 

_Due Date: October 31, 2004_


End file.
